


Yaz the Virgin

by Moonlightkitten



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, I actually don't know why the hell I wrote this, Jane the Virgin au, No Smut, Oops is my American showing shhhh, The Doctor (Jane) is Rafael, Unplanned Pregnancy, Yaz is Jane, just go with it, slight crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 08:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17280677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlightkitten/pseuds/Moonlightkitten
Summary: One minute Yasmin Khan is a devoutly religious, aspiring police officer working the night shift at Jane Smith's hotel bar. The next, she's somehow accidentally pregnant with Jane's baby and caught in the middle of a murder investigation. Sometimes the universe has a really weird sense of humor.





	Yaz the Virgin

**Author's Note:**

> a.k.a. the Jane the Virgin AU that absolutely no one asked for and I'm already regretting writing. Rated M because Yaz says the word "vagina", gasp.

Our story begins nine years ago, when Yasmin Khan was a mere ten years old. It should be noted that, at a mere ten years old, Yasmin’s passions included (in no particular order) her family, Allah, and pakora. Not the kind her dad made-- those were a disgrace to humanity. 

 

On this particular day, nine years ago, Umbreen Khan handed her granddaughter a white rose. (Umbreen’s passions included Allah and Yasmin. In that order.) 

 

“See the flower?” said Umbreen, whose frowning face looked extremely intimidating to a far shorter, far younger Yasmin. The little girl nodded, eyes wide. 

 

Umbreen harrumphed. “Look at it. Look at how pure it is. How beautiful.” 

 

Confused, Yasmin examined it. It was just a flower, after all, the kind that grew all around her primary school. “It’s pretty,” she said, hoping that this was the right reaction. 

 

“Yes, it is. Now  _ crumble  _ it,” ordered her grandmother. 

 

Startled, ten-year-old Yasmin Khan clenched the rose in her tiny fists. Under Umbreen’s watchful gaze, she smashed the petals together, crushed them between her fingers. She wondered if her grandmother was maybe teaching her a new technique for making pakora. 

 

“Good,” said Umbreen with a smile. “Now, make it fresh again.” 

 

Extremely confused by this point, Yasmin squinted at the rose, which was mangled beyond repair. “I… I can’t.” 

 

“EXACTLY!” boomed her grandmother, looming menacingly over Yasmin. “You can NEVER make it new again. And this is the same thing that happens when you LOSE YOUR VIRGINITY!” 

 

From across the room, Najia Khan sighed. “Mom, will you stop? She’s  _ ten.”  _

 

Umbreen ignored her daughter, instead eyeing little Yasmin (who was sort of frightened by now), with a determined glare. “Promise me you won’t have sex until marriage! It will  _ ruin your life! _ Never forget this, Yasmin.  _ Never forget _ .” 

 

And Yasmin never did. 

 

______________

 

_ 9 Years Later:  _

 

“Where the hell is Sonya?” moaned a nineteen-year-old, sleep deprived Yasmin Khan on a seemingly ordinary Sunday morning. “I need the car, I’m going to be late for my appointment!” 

 

“Call her,” said Hakim, who was otherwise preoccupied with a book about conspiracy theories. “Hey, did you know that the American moon landing was faked? The flag doesn’t make sense otherwise.” 

 

Annoyed, Yaz slammed her mug into the dishwasher with more force than was probably necessary. “Dad, I swear… wait, does the main bus line run today?” 

 

“Sure,” replied Hakim distractedly. “Why wouldn’t it?” 

 

“Because it’s  _ Sunday.”  _

 

Her father didn’t appear to grasp the relevancy of this information. “Oh.” 

 

Sighing, Yaz dialed her sister and was met, for the third time that morning, with Sonya’s chirrupy voicemail. Ugh, this was such a hassle. She glanced frantically around the kitchen, rooted through a few drawers until she found enough coins for Sheffield’s bus fare. The biggest problem with all of this is that Yaz had a job interview after her gynecologist checkup, and she didn’t want to arrive stinking like cigarette smoke from the bus. 

 

Oh, well. So what if she didn’t get the job? She liked working at the Tardis hotel well enough. Really, what was the worst that could happen? 

 

_____________

 

Meet Dr. Rory Williams: certified gynecologist with three years’ experience, happily engaged to his childhood sweetheart*. 

 

*Really, though, most happy engagements aren’t supposed to involve your fiancee snogging the face off your best friend’s husband, which is the exact position that Dr. Williams found Amy Pond and John Smith in last night after a late shift. 

 

Barely had Rory stumbled into the clinic at 8:17 when Alice, one of the nurses, roughly grabbed his arm.

 

“Come on, man, you’re twenty minutes late!” 

 

“Sorry,” he stuttered out, barely managing to contain a fresh flood of tears. “Uh, what do I have this, this morning?” 

 

Alice was either totally unaware of or indifferent to the fact that Rory’s world had recently been shattered. “Remember, you’re filling in for Martha while she’s on maternity leave, so you’re double booked this morning-- embryo transplant in room 13, pap smear in 12. I’d hurry if I were you.” 

 

Nodding mutely, Rory hustled over to the cabinet to retrieve some gloves. His phone buzzed. A voicemail from Amy. He tapped the  _ play  _ button, heart in his throat. 

 

“Rory, you stupidface-- oh shit, I shouldn’t… look, oh god, I’m so sorry, it was just a kiss, that’s all, I swear. _ I swear!  _ I  _ love  _ you, and I’m sorry, I’m so--” 

 

He hurled the phone at the counter, tears welling in his eyes. How could she. How  _ could  _ she? And then she was trying to apologize through a fucking  _ voicemail,  _ as though that would make things better… oh, god. He needed to focus right now. What had Alice said, embryo transplant in room 12? Trembling, he began to prepare the tray. 

 

“Uh, Mrs. Missy... Masters,” he exclaimed, bursting through the door. “Ready for your procedure?” 

 

The young, dark-skinned woman on the examination table appeared to have been dozing. Startled, she blinked awake. “Yes, yes. Sorry, this is my first time doing this, so I’m a little nervous.” 

 

Rory took her in, frowned. “Isn’t anybody else coming with you? You know, like a husband or w-wife?” 

 

He choked on the last word, blinked back a sudden onslaught of tears. “Sorry, I… this is so unprofessional. I’m just going through some r-rough things right now.” 

 

With a concerned half-smile, the woman made to rise from the table. “Maybe you should… Look, I can come back.” 

 

God, what was wrong with him? Ruining what was supposed to be one of the happiest days of somebody’s life.  _ Pull yourself together, Rory.  _

 

“No,” he managed to say. “No, because then you’d have to wait, and that’s not fair to you. Now, you said on your form that you’d prefer just a light s-sedative?” 

____________

 

It was true that Yasmin Khan had never been to a gynecologist before and therefore didn’t know what to expect. But still, Sonya had told her that a pap smear was an easy, routine procedure. So why exactly had someone just hung an IV? Why was she under sedation? And why were there seven or eight nurses rushing around her bed, prodding her with various instruments? 

 

“Is this normal?” she whispered weakly to the emotional doctor from earlier. 

 

He nodded, eyes teary. “Do you want us to c-call a family member for the recovery? It’s so b-brave of you to be doing this by yourself.”

 

Why the hell would she need her family there? Was she, like  _ dying?  _ Oh my god, she was dying, wasn’t she? This was what they did in movies, brought in your family and friends to watch you die, all the while telling you that you were getting better. 

 

That would explain why this doctor kept bursting into tears at the sight of her. Everything made so much sense now.

 

Gulping, Yaz gripped the edge of her hospital bed and attempted to pray, which was admittedly difficult when a blue-scrubbed man was prodding a rod up one’s vagina. 

 

_ Allah,  _ she began,  _ I know I’m unclean right now and I’m definitely not facing Mecca, but  _ please  _ don’t let me die. I’ve done everything right-- I got a 4.0 in school, I’m respectful of my parents. I even kept my promise to nan; I’m a virgin! If this is about stealing Rose Tyler’s lipstick, I’m sorry! I swear I’m going to return that. Just give me another chance!  _

 

When the sedative wore off an hour or so later, Yaz took stock of her surroundings. She was lying in what appeared to be a recovery room, swaddled in a mass of hospital blankets, and decidedly not dead. 

 

At least, not yet, she thought, reaching for her phone. 

 

**Dear Mom,** she began typing,  **I’m so sorry, but I’m probably not going to make it. I love you so much. Please give my cashmere sweater to Sonya...**

_________________

 

It had taken a while, but Rory finally calmed himself down enough to perform the pap smear in Room 13. Sighing, he nudged open the door with his foot and was immediately met with a barrage of insults. 

 

The woman on the exam bed scoffed, hissing in an accent which was unmistakably Scottish (Rory would know), “Why the hell are you so late, you crackpot? Smoking weed up in the exam room with the other pitiful excuses for medical professionals, no doubt.” 

 

Rory sighed. It was far too early in the morning to be dealing with this kind of (definitely undeserved) abuse. 

 

“Uh, look, I’m so sorry Ms. Khan. I’m, uh, going through some… problems, and I really--”

With a startled snort, she cut him off. “Ms.  _ Khan?  _ My name is Missy Masters. At least get the right person, you quack. I know your type. Next you’re going to be saying I’m in here for a pap smear or something, instead of a transplant.” 

 

Oh. 

 

_ Shit.  _

 

He inhaled sharply, stumbling out of the room with a stuttered apology. He was screwed. He was so,  _ so  _ screwed. 

 

Rory Williams had fucked up.  _ Massively.  _

_____________________

 

The cancer had advanced so rapidly and unexpectedly that Jane Smith barely had time to freeze her eggs before they began chemotherapy. On top of that, the procedure had cost  _ thousands. _ She was glad that she had done it, though, because Jane had always wanted a child, even just one. 

 

Of course, her wife hadn’t shown any interest, at least not until she had discovered the rather lucrative childbearing clause in the prenup contract. But then, Missy had always been motivated primarily by money. 

 

Which is why Jane was so shocked to discover the folded note next to her dinner plate that night.  _ Congratulations, you’re a mother.  _

 

Eyes wide, Jane glanced sharply up at her wife. Missy grinned ferally from across the table. 

 

“But… but  _ what?”  _ murmured Jane, barely daring to breathe. “I’m… you…  _ what?”  _

 

“I used your embryo, darling,” Missy responded triumphantly, tapping her fingers on the table.  _ One, two, three, four.  _ “We’re going to have a baby. I’m pregnant.” 

______________________

 

Actually, although she didn’t know it yet, Missy Masters was definitely not pregnant with Jane’s child. But another girl in Sheffield was. 

 

Seven kilometers away, an unsuspecting Yasmin Khan lay in her bed, thanking Allah that she hadn’t died and dreaming about pakora. Pakora with pistachio ice cream, preferably. And peanut butter.  _ Huh,  _ she thought.  _ What’s with the weird cravings? I must be about to start my period.  _

 

She wasn’t. In fact, Yasmin Khan wouldn’t be getting her period for a very long time. Months, actually. 

 

Nine months. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> ...yeah...


End file.
